


The Things You Thought I Didn't Know

by angelichl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autumn, Blood, Blood Drinking, Bloodlust, Bottom Harry, Boys In Love, Character Development, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Family, Fate & Destiny, Happy Ending, Hate to Love, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Midwest, Mind Control, Murder, No one important dies, Ohio, Potions, Protective Louis, Sigils, Small Towns, Spells & Enchantments, Supernatural Elements, Top Louis, Vampire Harry Styles, Werewolf Niall, Witch Louis Tomlinson, a bunch of nameless people die but none of the main characters, and louis hates it, harry is a blood sucking vampire after all, harry is kind of an asshole in the beginning, honestly how could i forget that, that sounds awful im sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-02-19 17:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13128831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelichl/pseuds/angelichl
Summary: Louis is an earthy Midwestern witch who drinks river water, chants in his sleep, and is insanely protective of his coven.Harry is a lonely, morose vampire who kills people for entertainment and wants to know if drinking witch blood is really as euphoric as legend says it is.Together, they're nothing but a hot mess.Alternatively, the hate to love AU in which a vampire and a witch make a deal.





	1. Epigraph

**Author's Note:**

> As a precursor to this story, Harry is a vampire and he kills people without much remorse. There are no major character deaths but Harry isn't exactly a saint. If you have any questions or hesitations don't be afraid to ask.
> 
> Don't break the barrier of trust by showing this to anyone mentioned in the story. I don't claim to own anything except the order of my own words.
> 
> Enjoy <3

 

 

 

 

**+**

 

Start by pulling him out of the fire and hoping he will forget the smell. He was supposed to be an angel but they took him from that light and turned him into something hungry, something that forgets what his hands are for when they aren’t shaking. He will lose so much, and you will watch it all happen because you had him first, and you would let the world break its own neck if it means keeping him.

Start by wiping the blood off his chin and pretending to understanding. Repeat to yourself, “I won’t leave you, I won’t leave you,” until you fall asleep and dream of the place where nothing is red.

When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it. Oh, when you used to sing it to sleep.

Here are your upturned hands. Give them to him and watch how he prays like he is learning his first words. Start by pulling him out of another fire, and putting him back together with the pieces you find on the floor. There is not much to forgive, but you do not know how to forget.

When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you are the reason it has become so mangled.

Here is your humble offering, obliterated and broken in the mouth of this abandoned church. He has come back to stop the world from turning itself inside out, and you love him, you do, so you won’t let him.

Tell him that you will never know any better. Pretend to understand why that isn’t good enough.

_— Caitlyn Siehl, “Start Here”_

 

**+**

 

 

 

 


	2. First Meetings in the Midwest

 

**+**

 

 

 

_ H.E.S. _

 

At 12:47 AM, the U.S. Route 422 Eastbound is deserted and wholly empty, save for two bodies. Only one of which has a soul.

 

The pretty girl steps forward mechanically, eyes dazed and foggy as if they have a translucent film covering them. She is trancelike. And young, too—only seventeen, with two parents to go home to and the gymnastics team and a folder full of calculus homework—and she has fiery red hair that flutters in the autumn wind. A particularly strong gust twirls her hair behind her, exposing her neck by chance.

 

Admittedly, he is fond of her wild hair. The way it twists and trembles as if it’s dancing to the silent song of nature. The way it curls around her face and quivers with each step she takes towards the arms of a monster. However, even more so, he is fond of her pale neck, uncovered by the wind.

 

She is mindless, but not soulless. Still alive and breathing, but, _compelled_ to do something. She steps forward, and, well, it’s not really his fault when her throat collides with his teeth, is it? Really, he shouldn’t be blamed. She was the one who walked forward, anyway. All he did was open his mouth. (And then close it.)

 

With an air of nonchalance, the soulless one drags the human body to the underbrush, laying her carefully on a bed of twigs and other natural debris at the shallow edge of the forest that lines the highway. He twists crunchy brown leaves into her fiery hair, folds her arms across her stomach, and uses his fingers to carefully close her eyelids until she appears, to the casual passerby, asleep on a bed of branches. It’s the least he can do, after sucking her blood.

 

His eyes are pale again, transformed back to their pseudo-human mossy green color—innocent, but haunting. His teeth, sharp and inhuman, drip beads of dark blood down his chin, and he licks up the red contrails with his imposing tongue before they can stain his clothes.

 

After this informal ritual is complete, he saunters back to the highway, leaving behind the abandoned car, headlights still on, driver’s-side door still ajar. With his night’s work now finished, all that’s left is one dead body and one non-living one. Neither soul remains.

 

 

 

 

+

 

 

 

 

_ L.W.T. _

 

Louis is driving down the U.S. Route 422 Eastbound when he sees him.

 

There. Walking confidently with lackadaisical cadence, a shadowy figure struts down the shoulder of the vacant highway. He’s tall and lithe—looming, but slight.

 

As he approaches, Louis switches to the left lane to avoid brushing close to the figure. With the new proximity, he catches sight of milky skin and eyes just as pale. Satisfied eyes. The man smiles when Louis passes, baring his teeth. Teeth marred with blood.

 

Louis isn’t stupid. He knows who he is, _what_ he is.

 

Still, he can’t help the involuntary chill that crawls up his spine at the sight of a vampire strutting away from a kill.

 

After living here in Northeast Ohio for only a few years, and thus being relatively new to the area, Louis has heard quite a bit about Harry Styles, but never really seen him, until tonight. Of course, as a vampire, his reputation precedes him, even around those who are unaware of his supernaturalness.

 

From his supernatural friends, Louis has heard that Harry is a blood-sucking vampire, and he’s responsible for most of the inconvenient and unexpected deaths in the area. He sleeps during the day and walks the highway at night, because for some reason he loves the blood of those whose cars break down on Route 422. From his non-supernatural friends, Louis has heard that Harry is everything from insanely scary to _really fucking weird_.

 

Well, Louis believes it. And also, he really isn’t a fan of the vampire killing people, because the truth is that he doesn’t need to. It’s the twenty-first century, and most modern vampires steal blood bags from hospitals, or suck people’s necks but don’t kill them, and then compel them to forget afterwards. But no, Harry Styles is one of those old-fashioned vampires who still kills people. And Louis resents him for it.

 

Thank god he’s a witch. Thank god he has the ability to create charms and cast spells that keep vampires like Harry away from the people he loves. Every chance he gets, he makes bracelets and necklaces and other small gifts for his friends and family, each one carved with protective sigils. He’s been meaning to start selling them to humans at his occult shop, under the guise of touristy jewelry. The more people protected from Harry’s shenanigans, the better.

 

Louis curls his fingers around the steering wheel and presses his foot down a little harder on the accelerator, feeling a bit desperate to get away from the vampire walking down the deserted highway, teeth marred with blood. He wonders who it was this time… if it was anyone he knew. If it was anyone he loved.

 

The drive back home feels longer than it usually does, as he cruises through the town and then breezes down the winding road all the way to his house on the river. As soon as his car is parked in the garage, he pulls out his phone and calls his sister Lottie.

 

“Are the little ones okay?” He asks as soon as the call connects.

 

Lottie doesn’t question him. She’s silent for a moment, and then says quietly, “I think so. I’ll check their rooms again.”

 

Louis should’ve driven over to their house instead of going straight to his own. He considers turning the keys in the ignition again and traveling over there anyways. It’s only a ten minute drive, and it would give him some peace of mind. He needs to see them in person to be certain they’re okay. To be certain they’re in their beds where they should be, sleeping soundly, safe from the vampires in the area who apparently find pleasure in killing.

 

“Everyone’s here,” Lottie says finally, and there’s a rustling sound on the other end of the line, followed by the sudden crackling of a fire. “I’m gonna strengthen the charms though, okay? Just to be sure. What did you see tonight, big brother?”

 

So she knows. Well, of course she does. Louis always calls her when he’s worried about them—when he’s seen something he’d rather not see, and now he’s worried about the same thing happening to his sisters and baby brother.

 

“Just…” he sighs heavily, gnawing on his thumbnail. “Styles, on the highway. Teeth all bloody.”

 

“I hate him,” Lottie declares, and the rustling continues. Louis can imagine her right now, a clear image in his mind of his sister busy with mixing potions, drawing sigils, and casting charms.

 

“Me too.”

 

“Why does he do it?” She wonders out loud. Louis listens to her voice and lets the knowledge that she’s safe and steely as ever calm him.

 

“I don’t know Lotts. ‘Cause he’s a sicko.”

 

He must be cruel. He must find some wicked sort of pleasure in compelling humans to offer their throats to him, submitting completely in mindless obedience. He must want to watch the world burn.

 

“I hate him,” Lottie repeats, voice stuffy. She must be beginning to cry, then. Louis understands, and he knows now that they’re both thinking of their mum, and the evil that took her life. “I hate him so much, Louis. I want him gone.”

 

He’s been sitting in the garage so long, the lights flicker off, and he’s encompassed by darkness. It matches his mood perfectly. Louis clutches the protective sigil on a chain around his neck, feeling its shielding power flow from the crystals to his hands, flowing through his entire body like alcohol through his bloodstream. For a moment he feels wholly invincible, and then the sensation fades away.

 

“Spend the weekend here, will you? Bring Tommy and the kids. I’m inviting Niall, too.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I’m so sick of that goddamn soulless vampire. Honestly.”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“Keep them safe, Lotts, okay?”

 

“I will, I promise. See you tomorrow, then.”

 

“Love you.”

 

“Love you too.”

 

Louis waits until his sister ends the call first, and then he finally gets out of his car and goes inside. Upon entering, he locks the door and slides the deadbolt in place, muttering incantations as he goes. Checking all the doors, the windows, everything, all the while casting protective spells. It’s not too important, since vampires still need to be invited in, anyways, but it’s calming to Louis in a methodical sort of way… going through the motions, casting the spells he knows so well he could recite them even in his sleep.

 

He gets the spare bedrooms ready for his family tomorrow, and then heads to the kitchen with his well-worn spell book in his hands, the outer leather soft and pliable after decades of use. He’s a relatively new witch, but the spell book is anything but recent. It’s been in the family since generations—since his ancestors’ very first coven.

 

Getting busy on a new potion—one that will hopefully make whoever drinks it invincible to a vampire’s compulsion—he stays up into the late hours of the night, bending over the stove and stirring the dark concoction, the smell of roses and vervain filtering through the air.

 

Outside, with the wind sweeping through his hair, teeth bloodied, eyes pale, a vampire waits at the riverbank. He sits perfectly still, gaze locked on the window leaking warm light from the kitchen, and watches.

 

 

 

 

+

 

 

 

 

The next morning, as the sun rises, Louis rises from bed and dresses in his usual attire of loose, mismatched clothing that flows in the wind, and dirty brown boots caked with mud. He pulls his coat on and tugs a hat over his head, sleepily muttering spells that send a teapot of water to boil on the stove, a mug sailing not far behind it.

 

By the time he gets downstairs, his tea is ready, and he drinks it quickly, desperate for the caffeine. Once his cup is empty he levitates it to the kitchen sink to deal with it later. He has much more important matters to be concerned with right now.

 

All night, he had this sinking feeling in his stomach like something was _wrong_. Ever since he moved to Chagrin Falls three years ago, he’s felt this sensation quite frequently, like an icy hand of a ghost is tracing patterns up the bumps of his spine, and it makes his blood run cold. It makes him tremble implicitly, too, goosebumps rising on his skin. Louis may be a witch, but he’s still a human being, and that means his instincts will always remain, especially when something is wrong.

 

For now, though, he pushes past his instincts, which are telling him to stay inside the house and _hide_ , and instead he exits the back door that leads out to the garden, and he walks through the mud and the wet grass until he reaches the riverbank.

 

He crouches down in the mucky sand, the toes of his waterproof boots dipping into the river, which is flowing steadily, trickling past rocks and carrying small twigs and fallen leaves. With trembling hands, he submerges them beneath the water and cups them, bringing them back up to his lips for a drink.

 

Of course Louis has running water in his house, but there’s something about the water from the steadily flowing river that settles his insides and proliferates his own witchy power, saddling him with the energy of the earth. When he drinks from the Chagrin River, he feels centuries of natural effervescence coursing through him, strengthening his witchcraft.

 

When he sits back on his heels, he experiences the distinct sensation of someone’s eyes on him.

 

Louis glances around, glaring at the trees and their shadows. He knows someone is there, but he can’t _see_ who it is. So he clenches his jaw and stalks back to the garden, all the while sending silent prayers to the High Priestess to keep him safe. She hasn’t failed him, so far.

 

Lottie and Tommy arrive an hour later with a car full of ebullient kids, bubbling with energy. The little ones are especially excited to see their big brother, and they jump onto him immediately upon seeing him. Louis ushers his family inside and locks the door, pulling on a forced smile and pretending the back of his neck isn’t tingling with fear and the feeling of being watched.

 

Once the youngest twins are happily playing on the floor of the living room with Tommy, Louis sits down on the couch, Lottie and Fizzy joining him easily. The older twins are in the kitchen, following the recipe on the box of instant brownie mix. They have to maneuver around all of Louis’ witchy ingredients, but by this point they’re used to it.

 

“Is everything okay?” Fizzy asks eyes flitting between Lottie and Louis. So, Lottie must not have told her yet.

 

“Louis saw Harry last night,” Lottie says, before there’s a chance to say anything else. “On 422, all bloody. We don’t know who it is yet, but that’s the third person this month and it’s becoming more and more frequent.”

 

Fizzy goes completely still. “Did you see the body, Lou?”

 

“No. I’m driving over there today, though.”

 

“But- what if he’s there, waiting for you?”

 

Louis fingers mindlessly at his most important necklace, the silver ring infused with vervain. “If he is, it doesn’t matter. I’ve cast a million protection charms—you know that.”

 

“I still don’t want you near him,” Fizzy cries.

 

“I know, but someone has to go to the body. I don’t want the family to see it like that. I have to cover up the bitemarks.”

 

“Lou…”

 

Louis ignores their worries, pushing them aside. He has to do this. “Niall is coming over in an hour. I’ll go then, okay? And I’ll be back before you know it.”

 

“Are we going to have to move again?” Lottie asks quietly, picking at a loose thread on her burgundy jumper.

 

Louis chews on the inside of his cheek, sighing. “I don’t know…”

 

“I don’t want to leave. I like it here. Except for that awful goddamn vampire, I like it here.”

 

“I know. I don’t want to leave either.”

 

“So what do we do, then, if we want to stay?”

 

There isn’t much to do. Louis has a beautiful house on the river, all to himself, and Lottie lives with her boyfriend and takes care of their younger siblings in their mum’s old house on Madroo Farm and everything should be perfectly fine but it isn’t. Louis co-owns an occult shop in the center of town and meets the wonderful witches and other supernaturals who peruse the shop in curiosity, all of the locals who frequent it, and all of the unsuspecting humans too. Everything is quiet and lovely in Chagrin Falls, full of beauty and magic and life—all of it unassuming, all of it calm and peaceful and steady.

 

All of it is safe and lovely and perfect, except for one problem. There’s a vampire who has lived here for decades, and for some reason he finds it necessary to kill for blood. Louis hates him on principle but the real truth is that he’s _scared_ of him. He’s scared this vampire—the very essence of cruel, wicked, and evil—will hurt his family.

 

The coven has a horrid record with vampires, and even if Harry had been one of the nice, modern vampires who are polite and kind, Louis would’ve shied away. Because he lost his mother to a vampire. There is no room for forgiveness, pardon, or amnesty. Louis can be civil with the lawful vampires who have never killed, and visit his shop for hunger-suppressing potions and pills that dull their fangs, but he will _never_ make exceptions for those who massacre innocent people.

 

Niall shows up an hour later, barefoot and in tattered, dirty clothing. So he must’ve run here, then. He knocks on the door, and it startles the older ones of the family who fear unwanted intruders, while the younger ones are blissfully unaware of the constant danger they’re in. It isn’t until Niall shouts something about being about to piss on the front porch that Louis swings the door open and tugs the werewolf inside.

 

Once everything is settled, Louis gathers his spell book and the flask full of river water he collected this morning. Then he kisses every single one of his siblings goodbye, stares pointedly at Niall with a look that conveys the demand _keep them safe_ , and gets in his car to drive back to Route 422, where a poor human body awaits his arrival.

 

 

 

 

+

 

 

 

 

_ H.E.S. _

 

Harry is surprised, to say the least, when a familiar figure dressed in ill-fitting clothing stumbles his way through the woods and collapses down beside the body the vampire has been guarding for hours now.

 

He had planned to not make an appearance until the police showed up, until he could compel them into thinking Harry was innocent, but this little witch comes crashing in and messes up all of his plans. Harry watches in confusion as the witch douses the body in clear liquid from an ornate silver flask, muttering nonsense under his breath.

 

“What are you doing?” Harry asks before he can think better of it, the question slipping out of his mouth without a second thought. He had meant to stay hidden, but now that the cat’s out of the bag there isn’t much to do about it.

 

The little witch startles, jumping up and dropping the now-empty flask. It clatters to the ground, banging against a fallen tree before settling in the decomposing leaves. “ _Goddess_ ,” he curses, his breathing labored as he throws a hand over his heart. Harry can hear it rapidly beating from here.

 

After a small moment of breathing heavily, the little witch recovers and slides his arms over his chest, his stance turning from frightened to defensive. “What are _you_ doing here?”

 

“I could ask you the same thing,” the vampire retorts, his voice cool and steady even though he feels a little annoyed because this little witch just waltzed through the woods and poured river water on the human body that belongs to _Harry_. He must be frightened, Harry thinks, observing the way the witch’s hands tremble, but he curls them into fists to hide their tremor.

 

“Well, I’m here to clean up the careless mess you made,” the witch bites, his eyes carefully avoiding Harry’s and shifting back to the ground, where he gazes at the girl’s red hair. He sighs and drops back to his knees, pulling a cloth from his bag and beginning to wipe down the dead girl’s wilting skin, washing away the blood.

 

“Why?” Harry asks, confused. He steps closer to observe the witch’s actions, quite interested now that he’s more perplexed than before.

 

“Because it’s rude to just leave a body like this for anyone to find,” Louis answers, dabbing at the bite marks on the girl’s neck until all traces of blood are gone. He dries the rest of her off and then sits back on his heels, reclaiming his flask from its resting place in the leaves.

 

“I rearranged the twigs,” Harry mutters, thinking of the previous night when he spent plenty of time making a respectable resting place for the human. “I even decorated her hair with leaves.”

 

“Yeah, well, you didn’t even clean up the blood.” The witch sighs, brushing back the girl’s hair and fixing some of the leaves in it. Then he smoothes out her dress and pulls the hem down a bit to recover her exposed thighs. “It’s just… someone will find her however you leave her. Don’t you care about that?”

 

“I mean… I guess..?” No one has ever asked Harry that before.

 

The witch rolls his eyes before pulling a leather-bound journal from his bag. He flips open to a page marked by ribbon and begins reading from it in a language Harry does not understand. After a while of this, Harry sits down on a log and continues watching the witch intently. He doesn’t understand exactly what he’s doing, especially when he pulls out a permanent marker and starts drawing strange symbols on the girl’s open palms, but his actions are captivating nonetheless.

 

A gust of wind blows and the scent of the witch’s neck floats through the air, reaching Harry easily. He can’t help but inhale, wondering what the witch’s warm blood must taste like… The daydream leaves him dizzy and interested. All his immortal life, he’s heard that witches’ blood is the vampire equivalent of human’s heroin, and for years he’s been dying to try it out, but he’s never had the chance until now really. It’s not very often he stumbles across a witch, though it seems now that an entire coven just wandered right into his territory without him even needing to lure them in or entice them.

 

It’s just… so easy. He doesn’t even know what to do now that there’s really no chase. They walked right into his trap without even realizing it—without Harry even intending for this to happen. And what is he supposed to do now? _Not_ bite their necks and suck their blood?

 

In a few minutes the witch is finished, and he caps the marker before standing up stiffly, arms crossed over his chest defensively again. Harry wonders if he knows how naïve and stupid he’s being right now, standing only a few feet away from a vampire who is currently deciding the best way to get his teeth on his neck.

 

“Stay the fuck away from my family, you sick bastard,” the little witch spits with vitriol. His words aren’t much of a shock. Then he spins on his heel and stalks away, stomping through the woods in his muddy boots until Harry can’t see him anymore.

 

Harry decides to let him go. This time, at least.

 

 

 

 

+

 

 

 

 

_ L.W.T. _

 

Louis is shaking with anger by the time he gets home, hands trembling by his sides, tears stinging his eyes. He just can’t believe that actually happened. _Goddess_.

 

Immediately upon his arrival, Lottie is by his side, grasping his elbow in a vice-like grip. “Are you alright? What happened?”

 

He paws at his eyes, trying to keep the angry tears at bay, feeling so overwhelmed. Everything is spinning. His mind is hazy and his body is still shaking in absolute terror at being so close to such a monster. “He was there.”

 

“What?!”

 

“Everything’s fine,” Louis mutters, covering his face with his hands. His heart is fluttering stupidly in his chest—his body’s natural reaction to being so close to a vampire, especially for the extended period of time Louis spent near him. Vampires may be able to assimilate into common society, but they will never be able to fully prevent the innate human reaction to their presence—trembling hands, erratic heartbeat, and the feeling of an icy draft crawling up the spine. “He just… He’s so nonchalant about it. About killing someone.”

 

The witch shudders, remembering the instant fear he felt gripping his heart as soon as the vampire had made his presence known. Somehow Louis had managed to keep himself together, successfully doing what he came to do—fixing up the body so that whoever finds it won’t be as disgusted and horrified and absolutely traumatized as he was when he found his own mum, all those years ago.

 

The only thing that had gotten him through the encounter with the vampire was the extensive protection of his sigils, charms, and potions, which he has spent years perfecting. He knows Harry won’t be able to touch him, and that fact in itself calms him, but he still curls in on himself thinking of what would happen if Harry were to trick the little ones into removing their necklaces carved with sigils…

 

It’s said that witches’ blood tastes sweeter to vampires than does normal blood, like the human comparison between water and wine. Thus, vampires love to witch-hunt and to get their fangs on those with magical blood, because it feels euphoric to them. In fact, relationships between vampires and witches are highly coveted, as the witch will often let the vampire drink from his or her neck—without actually being killed, of course. When vampires are in romantic relationships with humans they often feed from their partner so they don’t need to kill anymore. Apparently the bite feels very euphoric for the human as well, but Louis is skeptical. It seems too good to be true, and nothing is good when it comes to vampires.

 

The other concerning aspect is that _children’s_ blood is the most sought after blood out of anything, because it is so fresh and clean and pure. Most vampires, however, do not drink children’s blood for moral reasons. However, the vampires who abstain from biting children are also the vampires who abstain from killing anyone in general, and, as it turns out, Harry is not a vampire who abstains from such things. If Louis had to guess, he would say Harry is probably in favor of biting kids as well. That thought in and of itself makes Louis shake with both anger and fear, especially when he thinks of his own family, his own siblings… Doris and Ernest in their childish blithely naivety, who do not know any better but to fall for a vampire’s tricks and deceptions.

 

Louis sits down on the living room carpet and pulls the two little ones into his lap, smothering them in hugs and kisses.

 

He’s already lost his mum to a vampire. If he loses anyone else, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

 

That night, Louis falls asleep on the carpet of the living room, surrounded by his family. The little ones are curled up with him, and he holds them close, so afraid to lose them. He has no hesitations in admitting it’s his biggest fear out of anything in the entire world.

 

 

 

 

+

 

 

 

 

_ H.E.S. _

 

Unsure of exactly what his ultimate goal is, Harry devises a plan. He wants to try a witch’s blood if it kills him—not that it could, with his immortality and all. Yet the point stands. He’s been around for ages and he’s bored of his life and not quite sure when an opportunity like this will roll around again.

 

He’s been watching the little witch for months now, ever since he realized the source of the new and wonderful smell in town, but he still doesn’t know the little witch’s name. So on day one of his plan he sets out to discover the witch’s name.

 

It isn’t as easy as he expected. He finds himself lingering outside the occult shop for a long time, lingering in the shadows of a small alley. He’s been watching the witch for long enough to have memorized his schedule—when he shows up to work, when he has his break, when he leaves to go home or to visit his sister—but he has yet to learn his name. It’s frustrating really.

 

Harry watches with wide, inspecting eyes as he sees the witch walking up from where he parked his car around back. He’s dressed in all black like he usually is for work, but it’s not just simple, normal clothes. He always wears really loose, baggy, flowy tops that flutter in the wind, plus a pair of black boots that are much less muddy than the ones he wears when he isn’t working. They’re tall, almost knee-high, and laced all the way up with big loopy bows. He’s wearing skinny jeans like he sometimes does, though, and his blouse-like top with big billowy sleeves hangs down low and covers his ass. Harry is kind of disappointed.

 

The witch doesn’t encounter anyone long enough to make conversation, but he does greet everyone he passes with a warm smile and a soft _good morning_. The town seems to love him despite the small amount of time he’s been here, and it makes Harry kind of envious. He’s been alive for centuries, living in this town for decades, and he still doesn’t even have anyone to say hello to when he walks through the streets. Most people avoid him, even if they don’t know a single fact about his reputation or even who he is, or _what_ he is, at all.

 

Harry sighs deeply, sinking even further into the shadows as he hears the telltale sign of the witch twisting his keys in the lock of the occult shop and stepping inside, the little bells tinkling as the door swings open. Vampires can be charming but they will also _always_ be scary to humans, and that in itself separates Harry from pretty much the entire population of the world. He knows he could find a clan of vampires to join, but that life isn’t really for him. He knows that even for a vampire he’s strange. Always an outcast, no matter the population.

 

Faced with the choice of actually going inside the occult shop to talk to the little witch, or hanging back and hiding in the alley, Harry chooses the shadows. He isn’t ready to approach the witch yet, especially since he knows he’ll probably be cussed out of the store.

 

But he just wants to know his name. (And maybe to suck his blood, too, but that’s neither here nor there.)

 

So he waits for eight hours in the cramped little alley beside the shop, listening to the weekend sounds of the village. Everyone is happy, maybe even elated, despite the chilly autumn weather. The sky is bright blue, but pale in a way, as it gets when winter is vaguely near.

 

Harry is exhausted, because he is, as it is, a nocturnal creature, and he never stays up this late. He naps occasionally during the lengthy eight-hour stretch, not rising again until the sun starts slipping down towards the horizon. When it finally becomes dark enough to be a little shadowy in the village, Harry steps out of the alley and waits in front of the occult shop, peering inside the window and seeing the little witch with his back to the door, stirring something around in a cauldron.

 

The vampire isn’t exactly sure what he’s doing, and he really has no plan at all, so when the witch finally closes up the occult shop and steps outside, locking the door behind him, Harry finds himself speechless.

 

The little witch is speechless too, if the way he fish-mouths at Harry when he sees him is anything to go by.

 

“What are you doing here?” The witch asks, voice all biting and accusatory. “I thought I told you to stay the fuck away.”

 

Harry opens his mouth to say something but finds he can’t say anything at all. He leans forward a little bit, enticed by the witch’s smell—earthy and foreign, like river water and mud and decomposing leaves, mixed with something he can’t really place but probably has to do with the fact that he’s a witch.

 

The closer he gets the dizzier he feels, and he’s nearly to the witch’s neck on no account of his own, his legs just carrying him forward, when he places the other smell. Vervain.

 

_Shit._

 

It’s the last thought he has before he passes out.

 

 

 

**+**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading so far! Comments inspire me to write faster ;)
> 
> [Reblog the fic moodboard on tumblr](http://angelichl.tumblr.com/post/168898623964/the-things-you-thought-i-didnt-know-by-angelichl)
> 
> Much love,  
> Adri


	3. Blood Promises Under Moonlight

 

 

 

_ L.W.T. _

 

 

 

It’s a Sunday evening in autumn, the air chilly and brisk, and even though Louis has the heat cranked up to the maximum setting, his hands tremble on the steering wheel. He keeps his eyes steady on the road despite the rest of his shaking body, feeling an ache in his chest that just will not go away, and the prickly sensation of fear crawling up his spine.

 

Now, here’s the thing: There’s a vampire passed out cold in his backseat, colder than usual, and Louis has no idea what the fuck he’s doing.

 

Styles just… Collapsed on him. One minute he was leaning in like he was trying to get a taste of Louis’ neck, all pale skin and dark, heavy eyes. Then the next he was falling forward, his entire weight crashing into Louis’ arms, and the witch had no choice but to hold him up, unless he wanted to see him go hurtling towards the ground. In hindsight, letting his skull crack against the pavement doesn’t seem like that bad of an idea, but in the moment Louis’ protective instincts kicked in and he caught the vampire in his arms, bewildered.

 

Louis can only guess that it was the protective charms he had recited all last night in his dreams, or the intricate sigils he has tattooed on his skin in Sharpie, or the vervain he wears in a little pouch on one of his many necklaces. As he drives through the hurriedly-falling darkness, he twists the numerous rings on his fingers and recites the chants he’s had stuck in his head ever since he lost his mum. The spells are meant to fortify his powers and safeguard him from outside threats—most specifically, vampires. Such as the vampire out cold in his backseat.

 

“Mafdet, come to protect me,  
Don’t let evil around me.  
On this solemn moonlit day,  
Let the goddesses come hear me pray.  
I will stay protected,  
So mote it be.”

 

Mafdet is the Goddess of protection from venomous creatures, so Louis’ finds that calling to her in the spell is quite fitting. He has a wide array of goddesses to pray to, but lately he’s been whispering Mafdet’s name the most. Ever since the awful day he found his mum.

 

He drives for a half-hour and would absolutely love to go further, but he’s desperately afraid Harry will wake up and murder him immediately. In that case he doesn’t know how much his spells and sigils will protect him, though the vervain does seem to be doing the trick. He can only hope it keeps Harry knocked out long enough to get rid of him.

 

Once the anxiety becomes unbearable, and every single atom of his witch bones is telling him to get the fuck away from the bloodsucking demon, he pulls off to the side of the road and parks the car, switching his headlights off and encasing the world in darkness. There are no streetlights this far out of town and Louis is both grateful and worried. As a witch he isn’t frightened in the dark, and even thrives under it, but he knows that the only other being more powerful than he in the dark is the very one who is sound asleep in the back of his car right now.

 

Not having realized it, he had driven to one of his favorite forests for rituals—it’s even the one where he has celebrated the summer and winter solstices since he relocated to Ohio three years ago. It saddens him to think he’ll never be able to return to these woods again, after tonight. Still, he says his silent goodbye prayers as he works up the courage to somehow extract the sleeping vampire from his car.

 

Getting his hands on Harry is the worst part, he discovers. His skin is stone cold to the touch and just as unforgiving. It makes Louis shudder, the way the dark power transfers from the sleeping being to the woken one, making him shiver and tremble.

 

Witches may not be socially accepted as normal, but they aren’t cruel creatures. Now, vampires, on the other hand, are quite the different story. Vampires can be, and most often are, wicked and _evil_. Especially vampires like Harry, vampires that murder even though they don’t have to in order to survive. It’s like killing for sport and it makes Louis sick, every time another person turns up mysteriously dead and lacking the amount of blood deemed normal for a human being.

 

He hooks one arm beneath Harry’s back and the other beneath his knees, heaving him out of his car with nothing less than a great struggle. By the time he gets the vampire fully out, his arms are sore and his back is aching from the strain, but he still has so far to travel so he clenches his jaw and keeps trekking forward. Undoubtedly, Harry is heavy, which isn’t a surprise, due to his long legs and everything.

 

As Louis stumbles through the woods, the vampire’s curly hair tickles his neck. It’s a strange sensation but not as strange as his icy skin on Louis’ warm skin, and then just the feeling of a very lifeless body in his arm. No heartbeat, no blood, no pulse. Just stillness and coldness. Nothing less than an immortal monster. Something inhuman.

 

He doesn’t make it very far into the forest, but when total exhaustion hits he drops Harry’s body to the ground unceremoniously and sucks in a deep breaths of air to palliate his fatigue. Then, with a heavy sigh and a glance at the vampire curled up in a pile of leaves, sleeping soundly, body contorted, Louis turns around and jogs back to his car to retrieve his shovel. For once he’s glad for all the useless items in the trunk of his car, because for once at least one of them is not so useless.

 

When he returns, the vampire is just where Louis left him, thank _Goddess_. The witch clears away some twigs and leaves from the spot he’s chosen for Harry’s resting place, and then he starts digging. It’s arduous work, enough to loosen the ache in his back but gain him a crick in his neck, and by the time he’s done digging a shallow grave, definitely not good enough by cemetery standards but good enough for Louis, there’s sweat glistening on his forehead despite the chilliness of the autumnal night air.

 

The glance he spares back at the crumpled vampire form is longer than he intends. Maybe it’s the small bit of compassion he has stolen away somewhere dark and deep in his heart, pr maybe it’s just plain insanity, but something drives him to bend down beside Harry and pull out the permanent marker he always keeps in his back pocket. He uncaps the lid and then grasps one of the vampires hands, not thinking before he begins to draw a whirlwind of sigils.

 

Once Harry’s left hand is covered in The Sign of Goddess, multiple pentacles, and the Purification teardrop, he moves onto the vampire’s other hand and decorates it in similar symbols. It isn’t until he runs out of room that he rucks Harry’s shirt up, exposing the skin of his smooth belly and sharp hipbones, in order to give himself more drawing room. His marker is becoming dried out from overuse, but still he takes his time and draws two large sigils over the vampire’s tummy: one that means “Malignant Spirits Begone” and the other that means “I Embody the Peace of Death.”

 

Lastly, he turns the marker on himself, pulling his own shirt up and drawing a small symbol on his tummy, repeating the phrase, “I am safe. I am safe.” Over and over again, desperately trying to believe it, desperately willing it into existence, desperately begging it to be true.

 

Then he turns back to the vampire, sparing no glance at the planes of his inhuman face, and tugs the soft material of his jumper down to cover his belly before nudging him with his boot into the shallow grave. Feeling bad, and not wanting to get dirt in his eyes, mouth, or nose, he removes the black scarf around his neck and gently lies it over the Harry’s face. Finally satisfied, he begins shoveling the soft earth back over the vampire, trying not to think about the fact that he’s literally burying someone alive right now. Well, half-alive at least.

 

Realistically, he knows it isn’t going to do much. Vampires are immortal and thus burying Harry “alive” most certainly won’t kill him. Yet, Louis is hoping it’ll buy him some time. He has heard that once vampires fall asleep, they can remain in slumber for a _long_ time, and he’s hoping that’s true. Maybe Harry will wake up in a few months, so disoriented and lost, that he just begins hiking North all the way to Canada, and never sets foot in this village again? That would be ideal. Louis would love that.

 

Once he’s finished shoveling the dirt to cover the shallow grave, he wipes the sweat from his brow and then pulls out his flask, pouring some of its contents on the upturned dirt. The liquid is three parts river water and one part whiskey, and Louis likes to drink it for the very reason he likes to clean with it, and pour it over graves apparently—it feels safe, and protecting, in a way. It strengthens his powers while simultaneously fortifying the earth’s natural shield, bringing witches like Louis closer to nature and its powers.

 

At last satisfied with the dampness of the grave, he mutters his protection spell six more times and then whips around, running as fast as he can back to the street, where his car waits, idle and deserted. All the while he has this irrational fear that the vampire is chasing him, or at the very least just watching him, though he knows Harry is buried four feet below the ground, and knocked out cold, anyways. The feeling of the heavy moonlight hovering over him doesn’t help with the fear. It only reinforces it.

 

He drives home fast, hands still shaking, trying to figure out what the fuck he’ll do once Harry wakes up and comes hunting for him. If there’s one way to really piss off a vampire, it _must_ be knocking them out with vervain and burying them in the forest. Surely.

 

 

 

 

+

 

 

 

_ H.E.S. _

 

 

 

All the while, he dreams of a little witch dressed in billowy black clothes, smelling like whiskey and incense and poisonous vervain, dancing beneath the moonlight, chanting in his sleep, and tracing his skin with pitch-black ink.

 

When he finally opens his eyes, all he sees is darkness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

+

 

 

 

 

 

 

_ L.W.T. _

 

 

 

The annoying buzz of the alarm is what wakes him up bright and early the next morning. Much too early. It’s only seven AM by the time he’s fully dressed in leggings and a loose jumper covered by a soft shawl—all of it black, of course. He has no time or care for his hair, so he lazily brushes his fringe out of his eyes as he drives into town, breathing onto his hands to heat them up in the cold.

 

Last night has ridden him exhausted, his back sore and his arms aching. That chill crawling up his spine still hasn’t left, and he’s beginning to think it isn’t because of the cold weather, but because of something else entirely. He shudders to think about the previous evening when he was literally dragging the limp, unconscious body of a vampire through the woods to bury him. Even the thought of the word vampire still makes him cringe painfully, and he honestly cannot believe how close he’s gotten to this vampire within the past few days. In his eyes, it’s absolutely horrifying.

 

Even though he slept in later than usual this morning, he opens up the occult shop right on time as always, with the help of a little reckless driving to get him here. Immediately upon entering the store he heads to the thermostat and turns the furnace up, shivering like he always does, finding himself quite miserable with the cold. Then he gets busy reorganizing a shelf full of potion kits, alphabetizing them by purpose: daydreams, laughter, love, protection, remembrance, sleep, truth, and more.

 

The day goes by slowly, as Mondays typically do, and all the while he’s thinking of that stupid wicked vampire he buried in the woods last night. When he thinks of him he shakes with anger, feeling so sick and wondering. Asking himself, to never find an answer, is he the one who killed his mum?

 

He drums his fingers on the cold granite countertop as he peruses through an old journal of protective sigils. Lately he hasn’t been focusing on anything except protection, and occasionally strength, almost as if he takes his mind off it for a second everything will come crumbling down, leaving him and his coven vulnerable to outside threats. Aware it’s unhealthy to obsess so much over this one thing, he just can’t help it; with all the world’s magic at his fingertips, he knows he will feel unbearably guilty if he doesn’t make use of it to keep his family safe.

 

Lunch hour is spent in the back room of the shop, while his coworker mans the front, and he eats hastily as he reads up on guarding sigils and where best to place them. He has this strange desire to start drawing them on his neck, hoping for any last protection against the stupid creatures who so value witches’ blood. He doesn’t end up doing it, but it’s worth the thought, and definitely something to file away for later, if things really get bad. Hell, maybe he’ll even draw them on his little siblings just for extra safety.

 

At last, the day is over, after many more lengthy hours of working, and he drives back home, anxious to see his family again. He still has the full house from the weekend, including Niall, and they won’t be leaving until tomorrow evening. Louis is always relieved to have them all accounted for and in his sight, so he rushes home, parking in the driveway because Niall and Lottie’s cars are blocking the way to the garage.

 

What he doesn’t expect to see when he gets out of his car, however, is a vampire sitting on the steps of his front porch.

 

His blood runs cold at the sight, immediately. It’s his first reaction, and it’s completely innate. Again he feels the spidery hands of something cold and dead crawling up his spine, the sensation far too familiar in his lifetime. It’s the very sensation he felt the night he found his mother upturned in the river, blood slowly washing off her neck from the tainted water of the stream, eyes foggy and turned upwards towards the empty sky. He breaks out in a cold sweat as the repressed memories of her horridly lifeless body drifting in the current intrudes in his mind, making him still even more than the monster sitting so casually on his porch.

 

“Louis Tomlinson,” The vampire calls, lips quirked up in a devilish smirk, as he watches the witch who is just standing there stunned and in horror.

 

Louis doesn’t know what to say or do, at all. The fact that this monster knows his name is so bloodchilling, he nearly faints, but somehow the witch manages to hold it together. In his mind all he can think is _Mafdet, come to protect me, don’t let evil around me_ , but the rest of the chant is lost to him and his stupid mind can’t come up with the rest. A half-remembered prayer is as useless as no prayer at all.

 

He doesn’t know what to say or do as this absolute abomination is just smirking at him with that amused gleam in his eyes, clearly entertained from the way Louis is absolutely frightened out of his own skin right now. Eventually he finds the wherewithal within himself to respond by saying nothing other than “Harry Styles,” in quiet retaliation, even though his tone is much shakier than desired. “You figured out my name.”

 

“I have,” The vampire agrees, smile widening, looking more and more like the cat that caught the mouse. Even from the extended distance between them, Louis can see a bit of dirt and leaves crushed in Harry’s hair, and it feels sort of like a small victory. Though, he would’ve preferred the greater victory of his absence. He’ll take what he can get.

 

“How?” Louis asks, not exactly curious but more just to keep the vampire talking so he doesn’t decide to murder him instead. He’s quivering like a leaf in the wind and desperately trying to hide it, not wanting to show his fear, but of course the monster can see it, can probably smell it on him too.

 

“I asked your sister.”

 

He says it so simply it makes Louis’ heart stop right in his chest, clenching so painfully it feels like cardiac arrest. Mafdet _, come to protect me, don’t let the evil around me- Mafdet, Mafdet, Mafdet, please-_

 

There’s the recognition that at one point during this very day, Harry Styles, bloodthirsty vampire who makes a habit of killing even though he literally doesn’t need to, talked to one of Louis’ little sister. And it makes him want to scream. And it makes him want to bash his head in again and again until the vampire is immortal no longer. It’s not exactly how it works but he can’t stop the crazy fantasies that flow through his mind at this very moment. Anyways, the fantastical daydreams are better than the terrible nightmares.

 

“Which one was it, then?” Louis inquires, trying very hard to keep his tone nonchalant even though he knows his voice is trembling in fear. Still he somehow maintains his defensive stance, arms crossed over his chest like he’s in any position to be aggressive with the very monster who could end his life in a second if he tried.

 

“The one named after a flower,” The vampire answers easily, standing up to his full height. Louis tries not to notice the way he towers over him, making the witch feel small, powerless, and completely vulnerable. “Daisy, I believe.”

 

_Daisy. Oh Goddess, Daisy._ Louis suddenly imagines her upturned in a river somewhere, body drifting in the current just like their mother, and he feels so sick he nearly bends at the waist to hurl in the grass. He doesn’t, but he feels so nauseous, it’s a definite possibility.

 

“Is my name all you wanted?” He asks, voice not holding back the anger or the burn with which he shakily spits out the words. He knows damn well his name is not all the vampire wanted, yet even then his name alone is a surefire way to death, in the supernatural world at least.

 

When a being knows your name, it holds a certain power over you. Louis has known Harry’s name for three years now, but he’s never been able to do a single thing about it. Still, that doesn’t stop him from casting bad luck spells on Harry whenever he gets the chance. He would attempt the curses which end immortality, but Louis is a white witch and really doesn’t mess with the darker things that could damn him for all of eternity, no matter how tempting or relieving it would be to end Harry once and for all.

 

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

 

Louis could smack him. Really, right now he could smack the vampire so hard in the face he would leave a red imprint of his hand on his cheek, even though he’s pretty sure that isn’t possible for a vampire. What Louis really wants to do to him is worse than smacking him but he’ll have to settle for just fantasizing about whacking him a good one because if he lets his mind travel down the road of burning him on a funeral pyre, the image may never leave him alone for as long as he lives.

 

Yet something below his skin still burns with the possibility that Harry _hurt_ his sisters. His _family_.

 

“What did you do to them?” Louis demands, feeling lightheaded and still shaky though his voice comes out steely and strong with a scary sort of determination. He’s thinking of how he’s going to walk inside his home in a moment, maybe to find his entire family laid out and mutilated, blood dripping from gaping wounds in their necks created by venomous teeth. The picture in his mind is so vivid it makes him woozy.

 

“Nothing,” He responds, licking his lips like he’s lying. He swipes his thumb over one of his fangs, smirking at the way Louis cowers backwards with fear and disgust. “At least, not yet.”

 

“Stay the fuck away from my family,” Louis hisses, hands shaking, knowing he’s not in any position to be making demands right now. There’s a vampire on his doorstep and Louis is half-certain he’s going to step inside his house and find his entire coven lying bloodless and dead, despite the years of protection charms and sigils, the constant defense against the very horrors of Harry Styles.

 

“But your blood tastes so good,” The vampire counters, his voice teasing. He bats his lashes like he’s fucking flirting, and Louis has really had enough, to the point where he finds some fearlessness within himself to storm forward, right past the vampire, into his own house. Louis is two seconds away from combusting, exploding into nothing but dynamite and fire and stardust, obliterating everything in his wake. Instead he yanks the door open, throws himself inside, and slams it shut, locking it with the magical wave of his hand. It does nothing to soothe his nerves because he knows the vampire is still waiting outside, and he has yet to see his family.

 

_Mafdet Mafdet Mafdet-_

 

He flicks on the lights and is greeted by the sight of Lottie and Tommy curled up together on the couch of the living room, asleep. Louis walks up very closely, heart nearly beating out of his chest, and brushes Lottie’s long silver hair back to check her neck for fang marks. When he doesn’t see any, some part of his heart deflates a little in relief. He checks Tommy too, and is glad to see he’s fine as well.

 

He heads upstairs to the bedrooms, heart still thudding messily in his chest, to account for his younger siblings. Doris is curled up in bed, wrapped around her stuffed bunny, murmuring nonsense that sounds like she’s speaking a foreign language, soon to be reciting chants just like her older brother does in his sleep. Ernest is the quieter one, and Louis finds him burrowed beneath the blankets, safe and sound, _thank_ _Goddess_.

 

Fear still curling up the knots of his spine, he reluctantly exits the little ones’ room and quickly checks on Fizzy, relieved to find her asleep as well, no bite marks littering her pale skin. At last, he crosses the hall, into the bedroom Daisy and Phoebe share.

 

They’re both sleeping soundly when he enters. It suddenly dawns on Louis that it’s not even ten o’clock yet and his entire family is already sleep, which is completely abnormal. He tries to remember if he had been brewing a sleeping draught early in this morning, but he’s pretty certain he wasn’t. The only potions he ever makes nowadays are for protection, and clearly they haven’t worked as well as they should, if there’s a fucking vampire sitting on his porch, a vampire who talked to his sister…

 

“Daisy,” Louis whispers, jostling her shoulder gently. “Daisy, wake up-“

 

She flinches awake, cringing away from his touch like she’s suddenly afraid, eyes very big and wide. Louis flicks on the bedside lamp, illuminating the room in a warm, soft, yellow glow, and as her gaze focuses she relaxes infinitely.

 

“Oh, I thought you were…”

 

Louis waits for her to finish but she doesn’t, she just shuts her mouth and looks partly afraid and partly embarrassed. So, she probably did talk to Harry. Now, the real question is, how?

 

So Louis asks, voice soft enough not to startle her. He’s had years of practice of being gentle, and ever since his mum passed he’s really been in charge of taking care of the entire family. “How did it happen? How did he get to you?”

 

Tiny tears glisten in the corners of her eyes, sparkling on her waterline, and she blinks quickly to keep them at bay. A large breath of warm air is sucked in a gasp for courage, before she tells him, “I was in the back garden getting herbs for a spell… When I turned around he was right there, waiting for me.”

 

Louis engulfs his little sister in a hug, squeezing comfort into her body and telling her it’s okay. As always he isn’t sure if it really is okay, but he says it anyways because there’s not much else to do, and it’s his job, anyways, to lie to them in a way. To make his family feel safe even in the moments when he can’t protect them. The last thing he wants is for them to worry. He’ll carry the entire burden of their survival on his shoulders if it means he gets to see his little siblings happy and carefree.

 

Right now, however, Daisy is the opposite of happy and carefree. She is sniffling into Louis’ arms and gasping for breath.

 

“He- He did this thing, and I don’t know what he did but when he started asking me questions, I didn’t want to answer them but I couldn’t help it. He asked for your name and I told him but I didn’t mean to, Lou, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to-“

 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Louis soothes, rubbing his hands up and down her back. She’s trembling in fear and guilty and it makes Louis ache. “It isn’t your fault. Everything is okay.”

 

“What did he do to me?”

 

Louis explains to her about the vampire power to compel others to do as the vampire pleases. Of course Daisy already knows about this, as she’s quite old enough to be aware of some of the more horrifying traces of magic in the world, but the complexity of the situation is something he needs to explain so he does.

 

He tells her that Harry tried compelling her but it only partly worked, and Louis feels a sick kind of pleasure thinking for once he at least tricked the vampire a bit—enough to frustrate him, at least, and not making the kill easy for him. Louis tells Daisy it’s due to all the spells, potions, and sigils that Harry wasn’t able to compel her to do anything she didn’t want to, and that he only held a little bit of power over her by making her answer questions. He reiterates how important it is for her to redraw her sigils every day, and to continue wearing the crystals around her neck, and the small pouch stuffed with vervain and other herbs.

 

Louis tucks her back in bed, pulling the quilt their mum made right up to her chin, petting her hair back from her eyes. She squeezes her favorite stuffed animal, a ratty old tabby cat with worn but soft fur, tightly to her chest and cuddles it close.

 

“Don’t leave the house again though, unless someone is with you, okay? You’re safe in here because he can’t come in unless he’s invited.” He quirks a smile, ruffling her hair, voice still a whisper so as not to wake her twin sister. “I personally think that’s one of the funnier vampire rules. Not allowed in a house unless they’re invited,” He snorts, trying to make a joke of it.

 

It makes Daisy laugh, even with salty tear trails drying on her cheeks, glowing gold in the warm light of the lamp, so Louis thinks it’s worth it.

 

He kisses her forehead goodnight just like his mum used to do, then turns out the light and heads for the door.

 

“Where are you going?” She asks quickly, sitting upright in bed, the quilt falling off of her from where Louis very carefully wrapped her in it.

 

Louis briefly considers lying, saying he’s going to work on a new potion to keep the stinky vampires away, or even just to watch _Planet Earth_ reruns and relax on the couch, pretending he’s anywhere but here. Biting his cheek, he decides she deserves the truth, and it isn’t right for him to keep it from her.

 

“I’m gonna talk to this god awful vampire to get him to leave us alone.”

 

Her voice is worried when she asks, “Right now?”

 

Louis nods, returning to her side to press her back into bed, dragging the quilt up to her chin again. “Yes, Dais, right now. He was on the porch last I saw him, and trust me when I say I’ve seen him too much these past few days. So I’m gonna tell him I never want to see him again.”

 

“Lou… I’m scared.”

 

“Don’t be,” He tells her very unhelpfully, patting her head. “I’ll be fine. The last time he got too close to me he passed out. Good thing for vervain.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Mhm. I had this big lanky vampire at my feet, sleeping like a baby. That’s why you gotta keep your necklaces on, okay?”

 

“Okay, okay-“

 

“Promise me,” He warns, making her roll her eyes.

 

“I promise.”

 

“Alright kiddo. I have to go now, but Lottie and Tommy are asleep on the couch if you wanna go wake them up.”

 

“Please be careful,” She whispers, clutching her kitty tightly.

 

“I will,” Is all he says, throwing her a warm smile, before he closes the door behind him and heads down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

 

When he gets to the bottom his own live cat is waiting for him, and she happily brushes her chin against his shins, purring and mewling because she really must’ve missed him all day. She’s a sleek-looking black cat wit silky fur and piercing yellow eyes. Her name is Io, after the High Priestess Louis often prays to, pronounced ee-oh. She’s absolutely adorable and absolutely a menace, but she’s Louis’ familiar, the cheesy and cliché black cat that she is, so Louis loves her to death.

 

Her tails winds around Louis’ legs and she paws at his feet, nervous, just like he feels. Their emotions are partly connected, so it isn’t a surprise, but sometimes he still wonders how she conveys them so perfectly, and can feel the complex emotions he feels on a daily basis. Even if the fear he feels right now is so simple in the way that it is primal.

 

Louis feels bad for leaving her at home all day yesterday, but of course he’s also a bit glad he decided to leave her because it wouldn’t have been fun to have Io watching over him as he buried the vampire three feet below the dirt. He decides to make up for it now, picking up his kitty and cuddling her close, letting her nuzzle against his cheek and neck. With a great sigh he walks towards the front door, no longer shaking, and opens it slowly.

 

The vampire is still standing there, and when the door opens they’re only two feet apart which is really not a lot of space at all, and his pale green eyes are disorienting with their intensity. Louis holds Io closer to him for comfort and tries his best to remain calm and collected.

 

See, there’s this thing Louis has been thinking about for a while now, and it has to do with a vampire’s lust for the blood of a witch. He doesn’t know if it’s even possible, so with his cat in his hands he sets out to find out.

 

“Can I come in?” The vampire asks, as if Louis would ever invite him in.

 

It makes the witch laugh as he steps outside, shutting the door tightly behind himself and waving his hand to secure the locks on the inside, always grateful for his own magical abilities. “No way in hell.”

 

“Aww, why not?” And the vampire is pouting like his bottom lip which has most definitely been wet and sticky with blood is any motivation for Louis to let him inside.

 

Louis ignores him. “We need to talk,” He says instead, shifting Io over into only one hand and using the other to get his flask from the back pocket of his jeans, taking a big swig of river water mixed with whiskey.

 

“Mmmm, do we really?” His voice is a quiet hum, like he’s pondering Louis’ words, as if they are an offer and not a demand.

 

“We do.”

 

“About what, then, little witch?”

 

“About your killing habits, you big oaf of a vampire.”

 

“And what about my _killing habits_?”

 

Harry is mocking him, Louis knows, but he perseveres anyways, not letting this stupid vampire sway him from his original intentions.

 

“You need to stop feeding on people here. And more specifically you need to stay the fuck away from my family.”

 

“Oh, is that so?”

 

Everything the vampire has said so far has been a teasing question and Louis is about on his last nerve with him. Harry is standing with his hands folded in front of him, feet together like he’s all meek and shy and proper. The moonlight is the only thing illuminating his pale skin, but in a way he _glows_ from it, like he’s just meant to be under it. Louis feels the same way about the moon, even loves her dearly, but he’s kind of envious of the way Harry looks as though he belongs underneath it. He’s wearing stupid black skinny jeans and an expensive-looking brown bomber jacket with sheerling on the inside, as if he gets _cold_ , and it’s so absolutely ridiculous Louis has to look away.

 

“Yes, that’s what I said, aren’t you listening?”

 

The vampire stares at him for a long while, not saying anything. Louis considers making a joke about Harry’s intelligence level, possibly offering to repeat the demand for the sake of Harry’s understanding, but then he’s stepping forward close enough that his breath is tickling the tip of Louis’ nose, and Louis has this faint thought of _why isn’t he passing out like he did yesterday? He’s too close, he should be passing out-_

 

“Did you know lavender can reverse the effects of vervain?” He asks, breath now coating Louis’ cheeks, and he holds his breath so as not to inhale it, fearing it might smell like blood. “Because it can. It’s funny, because it’s so simple. The things you can learn from the Internet…” He sighs wistfully, before he snaps his gaze back to the witch, his eyes cold again. “So I’d watch what I was saying, if I were you, little witch.”

 

Io hisses at the vampire’s words, trying to jump out of Louis’ arms like she wants to claw Harry to ribbons and shreds. Louis doesn’t let her, knowing she’ll only get hurt in the process, but it’s a nice thought nonetheless.

 

“How many times do I have to say it? _Leave my family the fuck alone._ ”

 

This, Harry rolls his eyes at, and he gives a condescending look even to the kitty in Louis’ arms. “Yeah, well, your demands don’t stop at that, do they? You don’t just want me away from you, but away from this entire town in general. Well let me tell you little witch, I’ve been lived here for decades. I’ve been alive for _centuries_. You can’t just come waltzing in here, into _my_ village, the place where _I_ feed, and order _me_ to leave, after you’ve only lived here for _three_ years, which is just a fucking _blink_ compared to _my entire lifetime_.”

 

The way he speaks is so harsh yet so cold, each word emphasized with a certain intensity, spit out of his blood-filthy mouth, not even his fangs holding the words back.

 

Louis looks at him for a while and realizes he really, truly hates him. He doesn’t know if Harry did what Louis thinks he did—if he murdered Louis’ mum in cold blood shortly after they moved here—but it doesn’t matter, because he’s a vampire, and it’s just what their kind does. It’s just what _Harry_ does. Like that girl on the side of the highway with the red hair covered in leaves, that girl who couldn’t have been older than seventeen, that girl who had Harry’s teeth marks in her neck. That girl who was emptied of blood.

 

“You’re despicable,” Louis spits, a chaotic type of bitter laughter bubbling up from his chest and spilling out of his throat, out of his mouth. “Absolutely despicable. Why don’t you just go to the hospital? They literally have hundreds of gallons of blood at your disposal. Yet you choose to _kill_ people instead.”

 

Harry doesn’t say anything. He just reaches his hand out like he’s going to pet Io but she hisses violently, actually clawing him this time. It doesn’t breach his skin, which is probably as durable as marble, but she does seem to startle him as he shifts backwards and eyes him warily. Louis laughs again, scratching his kitty behind the ears in reward and praise.

 

“You don’t know me,” He says finally.

 

“I know enough to know you’re a murderer. So excuse me for _kindly_ suggesting you either get the fuck away from my family, or you stop your murdering.”

 

“Stop murdering? Stop killing? Stop feeding?”

 

Louis is so sick of his goddamn questions. “Yes, you twat, stop killing people for blood! Go to the fucking hospital and pick up some blood bags like every single other vampire on planet earth does! It’s not that hard! You can even choose your preferred blood type! They have the bags all marked and ready to go!” The witch shrieks hysterically, throwing his free hand in the air for emphasis.

 

“My preferred blood type doesn’t frequent hospitals.”

 

Louis stares at him dully. He still can’t believe he’s standing on his front porch, having a less than cordial conversation with a vampire.

 

“What is it, then?”

 

Harry smirks, licking his lips again with his pink tongue. The smirk shows off his fangs, which glimmer and gleam in the moonlight just like his snowy skin.

 

“Witches’ blood.”

 

There’s a pause the breath of a heartbeat where neither one of them says a single thing.

 

“You’re absolutely fucking insane, you know that right?”

 

“You’d never let me get a taste without killing you first.”

 

Louis gapes at him for a long moment. Then he slides his hands on hips, letting Io jump out of his arms, and his internal monologue is screaming at him, telling him he’s crazier than the vampire standing two feet away.

 

“Says who?”

 

“…What?”

 

Ah, Louis has finally caught him off guard. He gleams inwardly, preening at the small victory. Even if what he just insinuated is absolutely insane and even incomprehensible.

 

“Why do you think you have to kill me to taste my blood?”

 

“I… am lost,” Harry admits, shaking his head slowly as if to clear his head. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

 

“What do you think I’m saying?”

 

“That you’d- You would let me drink your blood..?”

 

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, I’m saying, why do you think you have to kill people to do that? Vampires do it all the time, don’t they? Drink from their lovers’ throats, I mean. Without killing them.”

 

Harry gapes at him, eyes wide and mouth open like he’s about to gasp or something.

 

“What are you… What?”

 

Louis rolls his eyes, scoffing. “Goddess, you’re so _slow_ , keep up. I’m proposing a deal. Since you so stubbornly refuse to leave, and refuse to stop killing people, and you seem to want to try a witch so bad… I’m saying we could make an agreement.”

 

“An agreement,” He echoes, voice hollow and confused but slowly catching on. “You mean…”

 

“If you agree to stop killing people for their blood, I’ll agree to let you drink from my neck. Simple. That way you feel no need to kill people anymore ‘cause you’ll have all the blood you need right here,” He gestures to himself, not even feeling his hands shake this time. “And if you kill me then that’s your own fault, and you’re all out of witches’ blood, which sucks for you ‘cause I heard it’s amazing.”

 

“I could drink your family,” Harry points out, and of course he only hangs on to the last little insignificant part of the agreement.

 

“Or you could _not_ kill me, and keep drinking my blood indefinitely.”

 

The truth is, Louis has been considering this for a while, so he’s discovered all the little arguments for his side and stored them in his secret arsenal. It isn’t a spur of the moment proposition and Harry must realize that because he squints his eyes warily at Louis, folding his arms over his chest.

 

“You’ve thought about this.”

 

“I have.”

 

“Why, little witch?”

 

“Stop calling me that. And because I know you won’t go away no matter what I do, and I have to protect my family.”

 

Harry nods like he understands. “Okay, yeah. What are the conditions?” He tacks the term _little witch_ onto the end just to be a shit.

 

“You get to bite my neck but if you kill me the deal becomes void, obviously, and I will literally find a way to come back from the dead just to beat your ass.” This forces an amused laugh from the vampire. Louis raises his hand to silence him so he can continue. “You stay the fuck away from my family and don’t even think about touching them. You stop killing people for good. And in return you get to taste my lovely blood.”

 

He’s smirking again. “What if I don’t like it?”

 

“Then I force-feed you blood from the blood bank and you never kill again.”

 

His gaze is on Louis, piercing and intense, eyes heavy. He looks partly amused and partly annoyed, but mostly curious, like he’s actually considering Louis’ proposition. His arms are still folded over his chest and his skin is still glowing pleasantly in the moonlight.

 

“Why are you doing this?”

 

“Because I want to protect my family, and I want you to stop killing random, innocent people,” Louis answers easily, the response falling from his tongue. It’s only part of the truth, and the rest wants to spill out too, but he bites it back, forcing it to stay inside and locked away where he never has to even think about it again, even though he knows he will of course. He can’t help it.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay what?”

 

“Okay, deal.” Harry sticks out his hand, long fingers pressed together. “Do we shake on it?”

 

Louis narrows his eyes, skeptical. “I wanna hear you say it.”

 

“Say what?”

 

“That you promise you won’t kill me, and you won’t even touch my family. And you’ll stop killing people as long as you’re drinking my blood.”

 

Harry rolls his eyes, dropping his hand. “I could say those things and then do the exact opposite, though. Words don’t mean anything.”

 

Louis pulls back, affronted. “Words mean _everything_ , Harry Styles.”

 

_So do names_ , his mind breathes, and in the wake of the moonlight and the exhale of a name, the deal has already been sealed. In witchcraft, words and names are nearly all that comprise the magic. Their power is vast. Unbounded. Infinite.

 

“Fine. I promise-“

 

“No, you have to say your name.”

 

He sighs, exasperated, but follows orders and starts again. “I, _Harry Edward Styles_ , vampire of Chagrin Falls, Ohio, promise to not kill little witch Louis Tomlinson as I suck the blood from his neck, nor will I touch his little witch siblings, nor will I kill for blood as long as I am drinking the little witch’s. Good?”

 

“Fuck off with the ‘little witch,’ you horrid gangly vampire.”

 

That one really makes him laugh.

 

“Alright, now get the fuck out of here. We’ll discuss the arrangements later.”

 

“What? I can’t even have one little taste? I’m _hungry_ ,” He whines, fangs poking out over his pout.

 

Louis gives him a dead stare. “You’re absolutely ridiculous. And no, you’re _not_ drinking my blood tonight, I’m fucking exhausted. Besides, I have to wash all my sigils off unless you want to die as soon as you touch me.”

 

“Is that what you drew on me, then, when you decided to bury me alive? _Sigils_?” He grimaces at the part about being buried alive, and says the word _sigils_ like he doesn’t know what it means. Harry holds out his palms accusatorily, using them as evidence of Louis’ apparent misdemeanor. The symbols drawn in Sharpie are still partially there, but faded, like he sort of tried to wash them off and then gave up when the task became too arduous. “What do they mean?”

 

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” Louis grins, laughing when Harry groans frustratedly. Louis knows it’s cruel to use his own words against him, but it’s just too fun to annoy the shit out of him. He gives the vampire a shove to his coat-covered chest, and tries not to simmer too much when he doesn’t even flinch or budge.

 

“Now get the fuck off my property, and don’t bother me until the sun has risen. And if you kill anyone tonight because you can’t handle a little _hunger_ , the deal is off.”

 

Harry huffs, seemingly displeased at the fact that he can’t have one last human snack unless he never wants to see if witches’ blood is really as good as it’s made out to be. “Got it, little witch.”

 

Louis smirks, fluttering his fingers teasingly, and then blows a condescending, mocking kiss to him, saying, “See ya later, Harry Edward Styles.” Then he runs back inside and slams the door shut hard, locking it tightly.

 

Suddenly excited, Louis revels in the fact that so many witchy spells need first, middle, and last names to work completely, or else they’re too weak to do any real damage.

 

Oh, the wonders he can do with the vampire’s full name.

 

The best part is, Harry doesn’t even know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! It means a lot.
> 
> [Reblog the fic post](http://angelichl.tumblr.com/post/169330456549/the-things-you-thought-i-didnt-know-by-angelichl) and come talk to me <3


	4. The Lamb and the Parasite

 

 

 

_ H.E.S. _

 

 

 

The first thing he does is go to the place where he usually spends his nights—the community college not far from town. He parks in the parking lot like he usually does, watching the students file out from their nighttime classes, laughing with friends or exhaustedly hauling piles of textbooks back to their cars.

 

As he watches he feels the ugly hand of hunger curling in his stomach, and there’s that familiar thirst telling him to _hunt_ and _bite_. Usually he waits until most of the students have left the parking lot before he gets out of the car to approach one of the stragglers, typically someone not near a streetlight and too far away from the building to run back to safety. It’s never much of a chase—and oh how he loves a chase—but it alleviates his hunger, which is the primary purpose to begin with.

 

Tonight he just watches the college students with dark eyes and the feeling of hunger making him sick. The promise he has made is beginning to seem less and less like a good idea and he considers biting someone just to make it void. He doesn’t.

 

He has never done this before—not this exactly, at least. During his many centuries of being a vampire, he has definitely bitten lovers without the intention of killing them, just wanting to suck their blood, but the relationships have never lasted long enough for anything to come out of it. The person either dies too soon or Harry has to compel them to forget.

 

And that’s just with normal humans. Louis Tomlinson is not a normal human. No, he is a witch, who draws strange symbols and chants in a dark unfamiliar language Harry doesn’t understand and wears these crystals around his neck as a form of protection. Harry has always known witches can be dangerous, but he’s never _met_ one before, and knowing something is different from actually experiencing it. As a vampire Harry likes to think he’s completely immortal, but that isn’t exactly the case. There are some things that can be done to end his very long life, if one could call it a life, and witchcraft isn’t a far cry from the things that need to be done in order to end him.

 

No matter. Louis is definitely afraid of him, which is a good thing. That’s the way it should be.

 

He ends up going back to the little witch’s house, sick of tempting himself with the scent of human blood from the college. He parks on the street, far enough away that the witch won’t notice his car, and hikes all the way to the cottage on the river.

 

Despite his complete lack of exhaustion, the vampire tries to take a nap during the night. It doesn’t work very well, but he manages a bit of half-eyed sleep, resting up against the oak tree he favors whenever he’s spying on the little witch. He knows it isn’t enough to whisk away he exhaustion he’ll feel the next day, and the utter need to conk out for a few hours in the daylight, but he wants to be awake to see Louis. So he tries to sleep.

 

Mostly he just watches the house, which looks glaringly dark except for one window on the second level. From months of observing he knows this is the little witch’s room, and so he wonders what he’s doing, and why he isn’t sleeping.

 

Maybe he’s cleaning off his sigils like he said he was going to do. _Sigils_. Harry knows they’re some kind of witch thing, but when he looks at them all he sees are random squiggly lines that make up strange symbols. He’s seen books of them with the pages open in the windows of the occult shop, but he really doesn’t know enough about them without doing a bit of research. The little witch seems to think some specific designs are meant to keep vampires away, but Harry is a bit skeptical. Oh well. It doesn’t seem smart to question it—not now, at least, when his hands and tummy are covered in faded symbols.

 

With a yawn he stands up and stretches like a cat after a nap, and then ambles down towards the river to try to wash them off. It’s just Sharpie, but it won’t go away. It’s frustrating.

 

When he gets there, he strips out of his clothes and shoes so as not to ruin them in the mud, and slips into the river completely naked. The icy water feels refreshing on his already cool skin, and he sinks down into it, closing his eyes and trying to relax.

 

The river only reaches waist-height even at its deepest part but Harry makes do, sinking low to completely submerge himself before lying flat on his back and sinking straight down to the rocky, sandy bottom. The current is lulling this morning, not very aggressive due to the lack of recent rain showers, so he doesn’t drift, but just feels a gentle tug on his body trying to slowly drag him forward like the small pebbles and stones that migrate with the current.

 

After about ten minutes of reclining under the water he gets bored again and resurfaces, opening his eyes to the dark night to take in the scenery around him. It really is beautiful here, even in the darkness. Of course the little witch has the best property in the entire village, a nice little cottage right on the bend of the river. The location is secluded enough that Harry can skinny-dip without being seen, but close enough that the cheerful sounds of the village reach the house on casual summer days, making it not seem so isolated.

 

Harry sighs, reaching to the other river bank and digging his hands into the exposed earth, grabbing a clump of clay that feels smooth beneath his fingers, despite the few pebbles marring its perfect gray. He mixes it with some sand and then spreads the mixture over his tummy and covers his hands as well, scrubbing at his skin. It works like a natural exfoliating agent, and when he washes it away with river water he sees the strange markings are almost gone.

 

He has seen the little witch do this before, bathe in the river. It’s definitely a strange thing to do considering his house is right there with a bathtub and a shower and soaps and body washes and everything, but Harry knows now that the witch enjoys the river and even feels closely tied to it, in a way. Harry thinks of all the mornings he has remained still and silent by his tree, watching the little witch stumble from his house, through the grassy yard and the back garden, through the thin line of trees and the mucky earth, all the way to the edge of the river. He thinks of how Louis cups his small hands in the water and brings them up to his face to drink it, how he sits on the rock right by the water’s edge with a tattered journal in his hands as he murmurs words Harry can’t understand, how he always fills his flask before leaving and walks all the way back to the house still chanting and murmuring.

 

How, sometimes, on warm summer mornings, he strips out of his clothes and dips beneath the current, resurfacing moments later just to breathe. Harry feels weird for watching, and he hasn’t since the first time the little witch bathed in the river, since he hadn’t known what the little witch was doing then but he was curious. Nowadays he remains leant up against the tree trunk, his eyelids falling closed. He waits and listens for the telltale signs of the little witch removing his clothes and then stepping into the river, bare feet on the rocks and the sand and the dirt. Harry listens to the way the water sounds different when it’s wrapped against Louis’ body, when it’s drifting past him with steady determination, when it’s caressing his pleasantly bare skin in a way that illustrates the witch’s close relationship with the earth.

 

Harry has been watching him for months and lately he hasn’t even made an effort to hide himself, but Louis is typically so lost in his own little world that he doesn’t even see Harry, even when he’s sitting only a few feet away. It makes Harry feel invisible and maybe not in the best way—even though he should _want_ to be unnoticed.

 

No matter. He decides to wait in the river until the sun rises. It’s getting closer now, the sky is slowly changing from black to violet and indigo, a small peak of light illuminating the smallest sliver of the horizon. He can feel himself getting sleepier and sleepier as the sun threatens to show, but he desperately pushes the exhaustion away, telling himself he’ll thank himself later when he finally has a taste of the witch’s blood.

 

 

 

__

 

_ L.W.T. _

 

 

 

Louis ends up pulling an all-nighter.

 

He doesn’t mean to. It’s just- He’s just so keyed up, and _anxious_ , and afraid for his family, and so desperate to protect them. His blood is thrumming with trepidation, skin crawling with unease. As soon as he gets back into the house he locks the doors tight and redoes all of his strengthening charms, repeating the words over and over again as he walks the inner perimeter of the house, checking every door and every window.

 

Lottie and Tommy are awake, in the living room with Daisy who is sitting with her knees pulled tightly to her chest. When Louis enters the room she gasps in relief and jumps up to squeeze him in an aggressive hug.

 

“Alright?” Tommy asks, probably speaking for all of them in their curiosity mixed with heavy apprehension.

 

“Yeah, everything’s okay.” Momentarily he considers debriefing them on the situation, telling them about the agreement, but he quickly stamps the thought down before it can become too overshadowing. Of course they have a right to know, especially when it concerns their safety, but… Louis is definitely not ready to tell them, if he’ll ever tell them at all.

 

As he wanders around the house, continuing his spell-casting, he decides he’ll tell Niall the next time he sees him. Just so he knows. Just so _someone_ knows. In case it doesn’t end well for Louis.

 

For now, he finishes strengthening the spells, even on the second floor, and then does his rounds again to make sure everyone is safe. Once all the kids are accounted for he heads the bathroom attached to his bedroom, finally taking a shower after the very lengthy, very exhausting day.

 

As the water heats up he stares at his reflection in the foggy mirror, seeing the shapes of all the sigils drawn over his body that he’s planning on washing off tonight, and not replacing. Usually, the first thing he does after toweling off is to redraw his sigils. But not tonight. Not if he wants this thing with the vampire to work out.

 

His hands shake when he remembers their agreement, so he pushes it to the far corners of his mind and steps into the shower even though the water isn’t completely warm yet. In a minute it’s the perfect temperature and he relaxes his tense shoulders beneath the warm spray, trying to work out the tension and the knots in his muscles. Showers always make him feel better. The warmth is like an artificial but pleasant hug, and the task is menial and repetitive enough to give his mind a break for a second as he daydreams, trying to keep his thoughts positive and optimistic.

 

Louis Tomlinson is a witch. Thus by definition, and on principal, he hates vampires. This is all due to the fact that since the beginning of time, vampires have hunted witches for their somehow superior blood. He knows that even if his mum hadn’t died by the hand (or fang) of a vampire, he would still hold some sort of prejudice. That’s just the cold hard truth. He has to protect his family, and himself.

 

The scary thing is that, in a valiant act of protecting his coven, he is literally, and quite willingly, offering up his neck for the vampire to bite. His blood for the vampire to take. In a lot of ways, his life will be in Harry’s hands, and that thought in itself makes him burn with contempt and _fear_. It’s not a comfortable situation, but as always he will do what it takes. After his mum died he promised himself he would keep his family safe, no matter the cost.

 

So here he is now: scrubbing at his skin to wash it clean of the sigils that protect him from the very venom he will welcome in just a few short hours. He isn’t excited about this, not at all, in fact it’s leaving a very sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. But he has to do this, he has to. For his family.

 

It’s this, or leave, and they can’t leave. Not when they’ve already made a life here. Not when the kids are finally feeling like they fit in at their new skin. Not when Louis has the occult shop. Not when Lottie loves Tommy too much to let go. Not when they have the lovely house on the river and the other on the farm. Not when this is the place where there mum died, and to leave Chagrin Falls would be like leaving her spirit behind.

 

He scrubs his skin so hard it turns red and raw. Blood seeps out of a particularly deep scratch, and the water washes it away before Louis even really has a chance to consider it. But it makes him think of his blood, and how much it apparently means to Harry, how it would make him go out of his comfort zone and spare his victims just to have a second taste.

 

Louis sighs heavily, pressing his forehead against the tile wall of the shower now. His skin is bright angry red and he feels bad for scrubbing so forcefully but it felt needed. The sigils are finally washed off and he feels exposed and vulnerable in a new, uncomfortable way. It isn’t pleasant.

 

Once he’s out of the shower he resists the nagging urge to redraw his sigils. Without their added protection, he feels defenseless. No matter that tomorrow he will feel the most helpless he has ever been in his entire life. He just has to show the urge to redraw them away, and busy himself until morning.

 

Sleep is completely out of the question, but he goes to his bedroom anyways, sitting at his desk rather than the bed. It’s covered in used journals, spell books, crystals and rocks, jars of minerals and dirt from different areas of the world, and his set of hand-drawn tarot cards scattered about. He haphazardly pushes everything to the side and brings a worn book over from the shelf, setting it down and flipping open to the index. He searches in the V section until he finds the pages where vampires are mentioned, then flips to the first page listed.

 

With bleary eyes and sore skin, he spends the remainder of the night reading all about the bloodsucking process. It isn’t pleasant, especially when most of the chapter revolves around hunting and killing. It’s exactly what happened to his mum, and that makes him ache. The emptiness he feels in his chest where he used to feel warmth has never been as cold and lifeless as it is this night, when he awaits the morning with nerves burrowed deep in the pit of his stomach, untouchable.

 

Just before dawn, he finally falls asleep.

 

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

By the time he hears his alarm, the sun is already rising, illuminating the world in reddish hue that would be beautiful if it weren’t the color of blood.

 

It’s fitting, of course, when he sits up from his uncomfortable position on the wooden chair at his desk, spine popping when he stretches out, that he finds his wrist smeared with blood.

 

It isn’t much, but it strikes a note of fear in his gut, until he realizes it’s just from how hard he scrubbed his skin the previous night. Still, that recognition doesn’t do much to ease his anxious mind. Immediately he searches for his flask and finds it empty of river water.

 

With a groan, he gets dressed in his work clothes—everything black and billowy just like he prefers. He laces up his boots tightly and then makes his way downstairs and out the back door to the garden. Sidetracked by the growth of Fizzy’s herbs even in late fall, he eyes the mint leaves for a while before slowly making his way through the strip of forest, down to the river bank.

 

What he doesn’t expect, of course, is the sight of a very naked, very sleeping vampire curled up on a rock.

 

At the sound of the twigs snapping and leaves crunching beneath Louis’ feet, Harry’s eyes open and he looks just as lucid and coherent as he always does—stupid vampire reflexes perfect as always. He sits up, making no move to cover his naked glory, and eyes Louis suspiciously.

 

“Why are you dressed for work?”

 

Louis ignores him. “So you’re a mermaid now, too?”

 

“Oh fuck off,” Harry chastises, rolling his eyes. He slips off of the large rock, slipping his feet beneath the water’s surface. Where he’s standing, it only goes up to mid-shin. Apparently he has no qualms about his lack of clothing. Following his lead, Louis attempts to be unbothered too. It doesn’t work very well, though, and he ends up very pointedly turning away from the vampire to fill his flask with river water at the section of the river where there’s a small waterfall.

 

“Seriously, why are you naked?” He asks, still not looking over at him, even though every bone in his body is telling him to keep an eye on Harry, because the vampire could end his life without a second thought and Louis doesn’t even have the slightest chance against him if he’s not looking. “And I thought vampires didn’t sleep.”

 

“I decided to swim,” Harry replies, and Louis still isn’t looking but he can hear him coming closer, the water sloshing around. “Not that you deserve an answer, since you ignored _my_ question. And for the record, we sleep during the day. So why are you dressed for work? It’s Tuesday.”

 

“It is Tuesday.”

 

“Your day off…” Harry says very slowly like he thinks Louis is stupid enough to forget.

 

Louis tries to ignore the fact that Harry seems to have his schedule memorized. “I’m covering for Zayn. I have tomorrow off instead.” Zayn is the only vampire who works at the occult shop. Louis likes him just enough to keep him. Their relationship is strained to say the least, seeing as they have the whole witch-vampire dynamic going on, yet they’ve never been anything but cordial with each other.

 

“But- What about- Aren’t we gonna..? You said dawn…” Harry splutters, looking absolutely bewildered at the fact that he’ll have to wait until Louis gets off his shift to suck his blood.

 

“I said you could bother me at dawn, not that I’d be offering up my neck.”

 

“But-“

 

“Patience is a virtue, Styles.” He caps his flask and steps away from the river, still very pointedly not looking in Harry’s direction. _Goddess, do vampires not have any dignity?_ he thinks.

 

“But- I… Okay. Whatever. Fucking fine, whenever you wanna fucking do it. Fuck.”

 

Harry’s grumbling makes Louis smirk a little, for the first time feeling like he has the upper hand. Even though the vampire could take two steps forward and have his fangs on Louis’ neck in an instant. Even then. There’s power in his blood and he knows it. If he plays his cards right, he can use it to his advantage, instead of letting it become a weakness.

 

Louis remembers the vacancy of sigils on his body, and feels dizzy. He definitely shouldn’t push Harry too far, annoy him too much, in case he snaps, and decides the agreement is worth shit, and just goes ahead and bites Louis, and kills him too. So he backs away slowly and tries not to look as scared as he feels. It only partly works, if the way Harry narrows his eyes at him is anything to go by.

 

The thing is, Louis isn’t completely defenseless. His sigils may be washed off but he still has the spells he recites in his mind all the time, and the potions he drinks before bed, and the crystals around his neck, not to mention the little pouch of vervain. He’ll have to take the vervain off before Harry sinks his teeth in, because otherwise Harry will pass out just like he did a few nights ago and Louis will have no choice but to freak out and bury the vampire in the forest again.

 

And then there’s the fact that he knows Harry’s full name. This remembrance calms the anxiety bubbling through him, if only slightly. Having his full name is the one thing that may give Louis power over him, and the vampire had just handed it over willingly without even realizing what Louis could do with it.

 

But then he looks back at Harry and sees him folding his arms over his pale stomach, hunching over slightly, curling in on himself. And Louis thinks, _Oh, he’s hungry_. Of course he is, and of course Louis has known this, but he had thought it was just an annoyance to the vampire if anything. He hadn’t expected this level of discomfort.

 

For some reason he feels an unexplainable—and unexpected—pang of sympathy in his chest. It influences him to say, “Just- Wait for me after work, okay? It’s just a few hours. Just until then.”

 

“I…” He trails off, sighing, still curled in on himself. “Okay. What time?”

 

“No later than five I promise. Earlier, maybe, if I can get someone to cover for me.” He isn’t sure why he’s making promises to the vampire who may or may not have killed his mother (though it’s unlikely because Harry seems to never have tasted witch blood) but they just slip out of his mouth without him meaning for them to do so.

 

“Okay. Okay.” He sucks in a deep breath like he’s trying to convince himself that he’ll make it until then, and again Louis feels that pang of sympathy.

 

“Right… I’m gonna go now. See you later, I guess.” Louis spins on his heel and scrambles out of there fast enough that he doesn’t have to hear Harry’s response, if he responds at all.

 

Crashing through the woods, lacking all grace and dexterity, he nearly runs back to the house but manages to contain himself and retain some semblance of dignity. By the time he’s back to the garden, his heart is pounding rapidly in his chest from the fear and the exercise, and the thought of the vampire curled up and sleeping on a rock. Dark hair wet and dripping, skin smooth and pale, eyes green and piercing when he finally opened them and stared straight at Louis, his gaze just enough to make Louis’ heart stutter in fear.

 

He gathers his things from inside and then rushes to his car, eager to get away. He has this nagging anxiety that somehow Harry will break through the hundreds of protection charms on the house and get to one of Louis’ siblings. Or, more appropriately, one of his siblings will go outside and Harry will whisk them away easily, and Louis will find them floating upturned in the river just like his mother.

 

He pushes the thought away, angry and frightened. It hurts too much to bear.

 

The ride to work is torturous and so are the long hours of standing behind the counter, waiting as only a few customers trickle in. With the chilly autumn weather, and the fact that it’s a Tuesday in the middle of the day, there aren’t too many patrons. Still, he rings up a fair few, selling the usual daily allotment of love potions and handmade charm bracelets to the humans who come in. The witches stock up on ingredients for potions and buy new leather-bound journals. The vampires purchase hunger suppressants and fake teeth to cover their fangs. The werewolves are interested in transformation-prevention pills and chew toys for when they do transform.

 

Louis enjoys the trickle of customers through the door and tries to get lost in his work, but there’s too much downtime. Thus, he feels anxious and worried all day. The sensation only increases as five o’clock nears.

 

Due to the fact that he isn’t able to get out of work early, the minute Louis leaves the shop Harry is standing right there in front of him, looking expectant. His presence still makes Louis’ hairs stand on end, that icky feeling crawling up his spine.

 

“Hey,” Louis greets, waving his hand weakly in greeting. He isn’t sure if there are any pleasantries to be exchanged in this situation.

 

It isn’t a very common situation. Louis spent the entire night reading about witch-vampire encounters, which, for the record, isn’t a common topic. He had to scourge his tried and true reference books and then finally turn to Google for more information, but he still doesn’t feel like he has a firm grasp on what’s going on and what’s going to happen. Hopefully Harry will fill in the gaps for him.

 

“Ready to go, little witch?”

 

“Yeah,” He says, following Harry through the skinny alley that connects to the back parking lot. They pass Louis’ car and Louis wishes he could just get in and drive home to re-lock all the doors and check on his family, never letting anyone out ever again. It’s much safer in the house, where he knows they’re protected. But instead he sighs wistfully to himself and follows Harry.

 

He has a nice car, of course, black and sleek but not too showy. As a vampire who has lived for centuries, Harry has quite a bit of money. And honestly? This bothers Louis. Because of course Harry is a rich brat of a vampire who _hunts_ and _kills_ people even though he really, really doesn’t have to. Unforgivable.

 

If Louis is lucky he’ll be able to put a stop to Harry Styles’ murdering habits. Of course, in the meantime, he has to offer up his own blood. A literal blood sacrifice, and not the kind Louis prefers to partake in, like the fun festivities for witches on the solstices and equinoxes. No, this is a real blood sacrifice, not to the holy Goddesses but to a soulless monster.

 

_Whatever_. The thought makes him ache so he pushes it away as he gets situated on the passenger’s seat and tries to calm his rapidly beating heart. Harry can probably hear it, with his super vampire senses and all, but there’s not much Louis can do to prevent that.

 

It’s awkwardly silent for a long moment before Harry very hastily slams his fingers against the button to turn on the radio. After that it’s a little bit better, a little bit easier to breathe, but neither one of them says a word as they drive out of the center of town, through the neighborhoods, and finally out to the country roads. Louis keeps his gaze trained out the window at the fields and the trees as they fly past. Harry is speeding but he doesn’t comment on it; at this point he’s nearly desperate to get out of the car.

 

He hasn’t inquired where they’re going, but he’s assuming their destination is Harry’s house. If he owns a house. Now that Louis thinks about it, he really isn’t sure. He breaks the silence to ask.

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“Home. I mean- My home.”

 

“Right. Okay.”

 

The rest of the ride they listen to music on the radio and the sound of the tires against the road. Louis tries to memorize the route in case he has to escape from captivity or something. He clenches his hands onto the edges of the seat and tries to calm his racing mind.

 

The end of the extremely awkward fifteen-minute drive comes in the form of an inconspicuous drive off the main road, which then turns into a stone bridge over a creek. Louis tries not to make any sounds of awe or amazement as the path turns winding, and opens up to show a goddamn fucking mansion. He gasps quietly and tries to cover it up with a sniffle but of course Harry notices and smirks smugly. Louis ignores it, looking away from the monstrosity. He thinks the estate may be nice, but Harry is alone. He has no one to share it with. There’s a small victory in a monster’s loneliness.

 

Harry parks near the front so they don’t have to walk very far despite the house being absolutely enormous, and Louis trails behind him as they head inside. He observes the vampire as they’re walking in and sees he was definitely right about Harry being a lanky, gangly mess. For a vampire he’s pretty clumsy. He trips over a rug as they enter the house but catches himself so quickly Louis thinks maybe his eyes are playing tricks on him.

 

Harry stops very abruptly, to the point where Louis nearly runs into him. Luckily he catches himself at the last minute but it’s really a close call. The vampire spins around and begins, “Ehm, yeah, so…”

 

“Right.” Louis agrees, quirking his brow. “So let’s get this show on the road, yeah?”

 

Harry just stares at him.

 

The witch tips his head to the side, against his better judgment and every atom of his being which is screaming at him to run for the hills, and exposes his neck to the vampire.

 

Harry’s jaw drops open and he gapes at Louis, not moving, just standing there in disbelief. Louis is a bit perturbed Harry thought he would have to coax him into it or something. Hell, he probably sees Louis as someone so weak and vulnerable. The ‘little witch’ is anything but.

 

“C’mon, I have things to do, places to be, people to see…”

 

Louis’ words seem to snap Harry out of it as he shuts his mouth quickly. He looks like he wants to say something really bad, but he stumbles over it, squeezing out the words, “Ummm, maybe we should get you somewhere you can lie down.”

 

The witch squints, confused, and looks around where they’re standing in the living room, which has vaulted ceilings and windows that cover the entire wall, giving a view of the forest outside. The fireplace is strikingly empty of logs and fire, and Louis has this weird moment where he imagines it lit, the room warm. Instead it’s uncomfortably chilly, and drafty. Probably due to the high ceilings. And the icy vampire standing before him.

 

“The couch..?” Louis offers very slowly. He thinks he would probably be okay if Harry just bit him right now while they’re both standing up, but he lets Harry have his way. Just this once.

 

“Probably not very comfortable. Let’s… Let’s get you in bed.”

 

The truth is, Louis really doesn’t like the sound of that, at all. It’s enough that he’s in the vampire’s house, but in his _bed_? Too many lines will be crossed.

 

In anticipation of Harry possibly tugging his arm to drag him to the bedroom, Louis digs his heels into the ground defensively and puts his hands on his hips. “I’m not comfortable with that,” He says, voice very still and nonchalant, perhaps like he’s commenting on the weather.

 

Harry doesn’t roll his eyes, even though Louis had expected him to. He just swallows and says slowly, in his stupid deep voice, “You’ll be uncomfortable on the couch.”

 

“I’ll be fine.”

 

“No, I really don’t think-“

 

“I don’t care what you think, I’m not stepping foot in your fucking _bedroom_ , Styles. So drop it. We either do it here or not at all.”

 

“What about the guest room?”

 

“It’s the couch or nothing, asshole.” The insult is a little uncalled for but Louis’ voice is on the verge of shrill. He’s afraid Harry is going to force him to do it anyways. Even though he’s saying no.

 

Well, the goddamn vampire must have some sort of morals, no matter how messed up they may be considering he kills people for his own enjoyment. But he must see something in Louis’ eyes—maybe determination, maybe fear—that makes him agree. “Okay, fine. But if you’re uncomfortable, I warned you…”

 

_I’m always uncomfortable around you_ , Louis wants to say. _I’m always uncomfortable in this godforsaken town. Because of you._ But he doesn’t say it. He just sits down on the center cushion of the couch and considers what the fuck he did in the past to get himself in this position right now. He supposes it’s due to the fact that he unknowingly relocated his coven to a town with a devious vampire who has a taste for blood and prefers to kill.

 

“Alright, lie down.”

 

Louis is an independent, autonomous witch. He doesn’t like taking orders. _Obedience_ isn’t exactly a word in his vocabulary. Neither is _compliance_. So it takes a long and deep breath, eyes closed, before he feels calm enough to let Harry nudge his shoulder until he’s lying back on the couch cushions. With a vampire hovering above him.

 

The witch cracks an eye open, nervous, and sees Harry settling down beside the couch, on his knees, hands grasping the part of the cushion right beside Louis’ hips.

 

“Okay. Where do you want me to bite you?”

 

“I mean, my neck..? Isn’t that where it’s usually done?”

 

Harry sighs, and isn’t sarcastic when he speaks. Louis wonders what in the universe is going on between them where they are awkward with each other but not sardonic. The awkwardness should be seen as a step up but to Louis it really isn’t—it’s worse.

 

“Well, typically, yeah. But that’s more for like, relationships, and stuff. Or if they’re like, the people I- um-“

 

“The people you kill, you mean. The people you murder.”

 

Harry rolls his eyes. “Right.”

 

“Well I don’t see a problem with it.”

 

The vampire huffs, and Louis is lying sort of beneath him, and they’re close enough that his breath brushes against the witch’s skin, making him shiver. He reaches out, hand moving slow as if he’s trying not to startle a frightened animal, and very gently presses the tips of his fingers to Louis’ neck.

 

“The problem is, it’s going to leave a scar. And if you have one here,” Harry explains, pressing his thumb softly to just below the witch’s jaw. “Then everyone will see.”

 

Oh. Louis hadn’t thought of that, at all. It makes sense of course, and he feels a surge of anxiety through him as he imagines his sisters seeing the bite mark and wondering what in the world happened to him. The bite mark that will look just like the ones on Louis’ mum when he found her in the river. His heart aches.

 

What will people think, when they see? That Louis is just another witch conned into a parasitic relationship with a vamire? And then his family. Goddess, what would they say… If they saw the marks of Harry’s teeth on his neck…

 

“Okay then, where do you suggest? If not my neck, then where else can you bite?”

 

“Well, technically I can bite anywhere. But the best places are the neck, wrists, and inner thighs.”

 

Louis valiantly tries to keep himself together at the thought of that. And then the fear that Harry is going to bite him very soon, going to suck his blood, and maybe even kill him. And then everything will go to waste and there will be no one to take care of his family. He can’t have that happen.

 

So his neck is out of the question, his wrists are in plain sight, and his inner thighs, just, _no_. He visibly shudders, sitting up slightly and getting ready to bolt. Harry doesn’t move aside from dropping his hand from Louis’ neck.

 

“You can cover your wrist with bracelets,” Harry offers helpfully. He has that wicked glint in his eye again and Louis tries not to be scared of it but he is, he can’t help it, it’s just his body’s innate reaction to the vampire who is only inches away from him, from his neck, from wherever else he might bite…

 

Trying to regain control of the situation, since he feels so much like a lamb preparing for slaughter, he sits up fully and holds out his wrist. “Go ahead.”

 

Harry, having none of it, pushes Louis back down so he’s lying again, staring up at the ceiling. He grasps Louis’ hand in his own but doesn’t bite into his skin yet. Instead he entwines their fingers to keep Louis there and says, “You don’t seem to know much about this.”

 

“Well _sorry_ I don’t have much experience with being bitten by a vampire,” Louis lashes defensively.

 

“Then listen to me so I can explain.”

 

“Fine,” He huffs.

 

“If I bite into you I can easily kill you. My fangs are venomous and if I go deep enough, you’ll die. You’ll also die if I take too much blood.”

 

“How will you know when to stop?”

 

“I’ve done this before. I’ll know when.”

 

Louis isn’t exactly satisfied with that answer, but he lets it slide. There’s nothing to do, they’ve already agreed on the situation and in the back of his mind Louis was semi-aware of this.

 

“Now, lucky for you, our venom is pleasurable, so this should be a good experience for you. Everyone has a different reaction to it but the most common I’ve seen at least is arousal.”

 

Harry is smirking and Louis wants to smack the smug look right off his face. Instead, he scowls, and says, “Hah, as if.”

 

“We’ll see, little witch.”

 

“And what about you, then, huh? Finally tasting witch blood? I’ve heard it’s like a drug,” Louis taunts in a faux-secretive whisper, even partly boasting. He doesn’t know how else to deal with the situation, without mockery and derision.

 

Harry narrows his eyes, repeating, “We’ll see.”

 

Louis shifts around, getting comfier on the couch cushions. “Whatever, Styles, do your worst.” Then he holds out his wrist and resists the urge to close his eyes. In the back of his mind he knows he needs to watch Harry in case he starts stepping out of line.

 

His heart is thudding relentlessly in his chest as the vampire carefully takes Louis’ wrist in his hands, long skinny fingers stroking his knuckles and the back of his hand, and then his wrist bone too. He has his serious face on again as he very slowly pulls Louis’ arm towards him, manhandling him a bit. When he inhales, he inhales deeply, breathing in the fragrance of the witch’s skin with closed eyes.

 

Louis wonders what he smells like to the vampire, wonders if it’s as good as he’s acting it is, head tilted back in pleasure. Louis thinks this might be his last day alive so he says a little prayer to Mafdet, managing to get through the entire thing, and replaces the word _evil_ with _Harry. Protect me from Harry. Mafdet come to protect me_.

 

He opens his mouth, tongue jutting out, and licks all over Louis’ skin like he’s cleaning it or something before he bites. Maybe he’s just teasing himself with a taste, Louis doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter. His tongue is inhumanly cold and the feeling sends shivers wracking through the witch’s body. It makes him burn, it makes him ache. He presses his lips shut tightly in fear of doing something horribly embarrassing like whimpering or something.

 

Harry runs his teeth over the sensitive skin of Louis’ inner wrist, and it makes Louis squirm. He wants to pull away so badly—every instinct is telling him to pull away—but he knows he has to do this. It’s for the better maybe not for him personally, but for the town in general. If Louis can somehow manage to make this a regular thing, then Harry will stop fucking killing people. And Louis will be saving lives. The lives of his coven included.

 

Lost in his own thoughts, his own mind, he isn’t expecting it when Harry finally sinks his teeth in.

 

At first, it hurts. _A lot_. Like hell. And all Louis is thinking is, _That motherfucker lied_. His skin is burning and the awful sensation rapidly metastasizes up his arm, all the way to his shoulder, and then his chest, where it spreads throughout his body. Like cold, icy fire. For a while he thinks, _This is how I’m going to die_.

 

Yet he feels the burning in his heart only for a few moments before it languidly turns from the aching pain to an outlandish sort of pleasure, one he has definitely never felt before…

 

It’s like… That feeling in your stomach you get when you’re on a roller coaster, like the world is just dropping out from beneath you and you’re floating in mid air… And everything is on pause for a moment, time just stops and you feel this small infinity, this cold burning ache that feels _good_ , somehow…

 

It’s like… Running down a hill as a child, no feelings, no fears. Just the wind and the rush. The freedom of it all. The liberty in the breath and the breathlessness. The thudding of your heart that matches the thud of your feet. The feeling that somehow, through the constraints and the rules and the fears, somehow… Somehow you are flying.

 

And then there’s the arousal. Harry wasn’t lying, and maybe Louis would be embarrassed if he was more lucid. But he isn’t really in control of his actions or his body or anything. He just feels this immense wave of pleasure bigger and better than any orgasm he has ever experienced in his entire life, and it overcomes him, and vaguely he recognizes the feeling of his hands trembling, his heart thudding, the feeling of arousal building low in his belly, his skin chillingly cold but somehow still burning, and then the sensation of Harry’s lips on his skin… Harry’s teeth dipping into his flesh…

 

But no. There’s something else, too. This wooziness. This lightheadedness. He’s dizzy with it. Spinning with it. Burning with it. Flying with it. Dizzy, faint, flighty. Vaguely he wonders if Harry is going to stop sucking his blood anytime soon.

 

Even more vaguely he realizes he doesn’t care if the vampire stops at all.

 

Letting his eyelids flutter closed, the feeling of his eyelashes tickling his skin somehow very clear in his mind, he gives into the heavy darkness—that unforgivable sea—pulling him under.

 

Everything goes black. He doesn’t remember the rest.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to post this last night but my computer just randomly turned off and wouldn't turn on again. I have over 400,000 words written of fic on my computer not saved anywhere else, so yeah, that kind of killed me a little. But my dad fixed it somehow so I got everything back. Thank god.
> 
> Comments inspire me to write faster ;)
> 
> But seriously come talk to me! And [reblog the fic post on Tumblr](http://angelichl.tumblr.com/post/169330456549/the-things-you-thought-i-didnt-know-by-angelichl) if you want <3


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